


Down to the water's edge, my love

by kameo_chan



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Marcus the Merman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kameo_chan/pseuds/kameo_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca has always thought Marcus to be overly fastidious because of his love of bathing. But the day it causes him to sprout a fish tail is the day Esca decides he’s laying off the wineskin for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down to the water's edge, my love

**Author's Note:**

> This was a bit of fun speculation on my behalf, playing with Marcus’ origins in the film. I found it strange that there was absolutely no mention made of Marcus’ mother. I’ve noticed quite a few fics in which it is speculated that Marcus’ mother was a Gaul. But then I thought to myself: how much more fun would it be if she were even more exotic than that? So I turned my attention to the Roman conquest of Germania, which spanned a similar time period as the conquest of Britannia. And well, that's how I ended up writing a fic about Marcus the (sort of) merman.

“A tail?” Esca asks. Even to his own ears, the disbelief coloring his voice sounds comical and exaggerated. It would probably be too, at that, if it weren’t for the fact that Marcus is trying his utmost best to hide the very reason for Esca’s incredulity amidst the eddying waters of the clear stream he usually bathes in. 

“I had hoped this day would never come,” Marcus says sheepishly, rubbing thoughtfully at the stubble on his chin. Even from where he is standing on the pebbled bank, Esca can clearly see the green-gold shimmer of a thousand smooth scales catching in the sun. “I would have preferred that you never found out, though the thought seems foolish now.” 

“A tail?” Esca asks again, because the question bears repetition and it is the only thing he can think to say that makes even a lick of sense. Marcus opens his mouth, thinks better of it and gives voice to a loud, put-upon sigh. 

“Esca, have I ever told you of my mother?” he asks instead, voice low and pensive. And though Esca feels the mulish urge to point out that _no_ , he has not and does not wish to because Marcus has suddenly sprouted a fish tail, he simply shakes his head and furrows his brow to let Marcus know he had better be quick with his explanation. 

“Everyone knows of my father,” Marcus begins, and Esca resists the urge to pick up one of the pebbles at his feet and fling it at his head. “Flavius Aquila, scourge of the Ninth. But before that, he was a young centurion stationed for a time in Germania Inferior. It is there that he met and fell in love with a chieftain’s daughter of the Chatti tribe whom he married and brought back to Rome as Adelia, not knowing her for who or what she truly was.” 

Esca nods impatiently, willing Marcus to speed up the account so that they could get to the pressing matter of why his legs have disappeared in favor of a fin-tipped tail. 

“My mother was surpassing tall for a woman, even among her own kind. I remember that her hair was the color of ripe wheat and that she always smiled. I know my father loved her dearly. But Etruria was not her home and the Romans there were not her people. She died when I was still a small boy. My father told me it was of longing for her native lands.” 

Marcus’ voice is quiet and thick with the memory of things long past, and despite the swish of Marcus’ as yet unexplained tail setting a queer roiling to his stomach; Esca feels the fight leave him. He remembers well enough what it means to lose one’s kin and the sympathy he feels for Marcus then is genuine and heart-wrenching. 

Marcus looks up at him from where he is still half submerged and then gives him a small, hesitant smile before continuing. “Despite her death, she has remained with me. In truth, I am far more her son than I have ever been my father’s, though I tried to deny it to myself long enough.” 

There is subtle shift in the air then, and Esca feels the hair on the nape of his neck bristle. And then Marcus stands; tail gone as though it had never even been there in the first place, naked and wet and shining under the midday sun. 

“What did you do? Where did it go?” Esca demands, because he knows what he’d seen and what he’d seen was Marcus with a tail that would not have seemed out of place on the trout he had tickled and caught as a youth in the lands of the Brigantes. 

“ _Nikwuz_ ,” Marcus murmurs, and the strange rasp of the word sends a shiver running hot down Esca’s spine. And then he holds out his hand to Esca and smiles at him as brightly and brilliantly as a bonfire at Samhain. “Come to me, Esca,” he beckons. “I am glad you would see me as I really am, no more lies.” 

And Esca finds that he cannot help but obey, eyes pinned to Marcus’ naked body as though mortared in place. He makes quick work of unlacing and shrugging his _braccae_ and tunic and then, before he has time to even register the fact, he is wading into the cold water, his flesh goose-pimpling at the sudden drop in temperature. 

“There,” Marcus says once Esca is by his side, drawing him into a tight embrace. And though Esca is accustomed to Marcus’ height and the adjustments it usually calls for, it suddenly seems as though Marcus is a mountain towering over him, impossibly tall and imposing. 

“Whatever magic this is, and whatever manner of creature you are, you are still Marcus,” Esca murmurs, content to close his eyes and press his face to the smooth, sun-warmed skin of Marcus’ chest. He does not know whether it is only a trick of his mind, but every so often he feels the scrape of slick scales beneath his cheek. “And you are still mine, though I should not wish to bed you with your tail exposed.” 

Marcus laughs; a deep rumble that resonates in his chest. “We make our homes in or near places where water is plentiful, for we cannot survive without it,” he says, resting his head atop Esca’s. “That is why I am so fond of bathing here. In Rome we are called sirens; here your people name us as water horses, though neither is what we truly are. And I am even less that, being born of a mortal father.” 

“I care not,” Esca answers matter-of-factly, raising his head to look Marcus in the face. He _has_ grown taller, by nearly a hand and Esca has to crane his neck to manage meeting his eye. “I would not care if you had the need to spend half the day here, as long as you know that you belong to me.” 

Marcus’ eyes dance merrily, filled with a mischief Esca is completely unaccustomed to. “If the great warrior of the Painted Peoples wishes to claim me as his river-bride, who am I to gainsay him?” 

And then Marcus is kissing him, cupping his face and searching out all the hidden places of Esca’s mouth with the smooth slide of his tongue. 

*** 

It is well past dusk when they finally make their way back to the cottage, Marcus’ large hand twined happily with Esca’s own, when Esca suddenly comes to a halt. 

Marcus gives him a curious, searching look and Esca nods to himself, as though sure of something he hadn’t been before. “Where did that tail of yours go?” he asks, favoring Marcus with his usual narrow scrutiny. “And why have I never seen it before then, if you are…” 

“ _Nikwuz_?” Marcus supplies in the heavy tongue of the Germani. Esca nods his thanks, knowing his own tongue would tangle and knot if he tried to pronounce the word. 

“Yes, that; if then you’ve been one such all along. Why?” 

“Self restraint is crucial, as is the ability to live peacefully amongst humans without arousing their suspicions. I became a soldier for my father’s honor, but my time with the Legion also served to hone what I already knew. My mother was particularly good at hiding what she truly was, and fortunately she had taught me all her knowledge of it before she passed. Otherwise I would have long since drowned many a careless suitor with my wiles.” Marcus shrugs at that, though his tone speaks of grave distaste. “I do not wish to harm anyone, and that more than aught else, has helped quell my desires.” 

“Would you ever try to drown me?” Esca asks, keeping his voice carefully neutral, studying their intertwined fingers. 

“I’ve thought about it once or twice,” Marcus says, and his voice is suddenly as dark and deep and cold as the Caledonian lochs they had often stopped by on their search for the Eagle. There is a thick undercurrent of desire to Marcus’ words that snakes its way to Esca's heart like an arrow to a mark, straight and true. He draws in a sharp breath then, without meaning to and Marcus’ eyes soften even as he gives Esca’s hand a firm squeeze. 

“I have. I will not lie,” he states. “Especially amongst the Seal People, I thought of it often. But it is not in our nature to drown those whom we truly love, just as it is not in your nature to kill those who do not deserve to die, Esca.” 

Esca thinks on it, turns the thought over in his mind twice and then spears Marcus with a heated look. “You have not yet. Shall I take it you mean to have only me and no other then?” 

The grin on Marcus’ face is wide and wolfish and very, very lewd. “But of course.” 

Esca gives a grin of his own then and tugs Marcus toward their home. “Come along then, fish-man. I wish to see what else you have been hiding from me until now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nixe (from Common Germanic _*nikwuz_ , or alternatively _*nikwis(i)_ ) were shapeshifting water spirits who inhabited rivers and streams in the mythology of the Ancient Germanic peoples. Most often depicted as male in the earliest of records and sometimes as having a fish tail for a lower half, they were said to be alluring and dangerous, drowning all those who wandered near to the water's edge. Some though, allowed the attentions of mortals and even left their watery homes to cohabit with their human lovers, though their longing always called them back to their beloved rivers and streams in the end. 
> 
> They are most frequently equated with merpeople and the sirens of Roman mythology, although there is a trace resemblance between the nixe and the kelpies of Celtic lore as well.


End file.
